


Tooru

by memoirs



Series: Hajime & Tooru [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Based on the classic Rebecca, Future Fic, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memoirs/pseuds/memoirs
Summary: "Are you scared?" Matsukawa asked Oikawa as they nibbled on whatever was leftover from dinner.Oikawa shot him a strange look. "What on earth doIhave to be scared of?"There was a long pause."He'sOikawa Tooru, three time Olympic gold medallist," Hanamaki quipped, easing the tension and undoubtedly earning a few profiteroles aimed for his head.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Hajime & Tooru [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948261
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Tooru

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second and final part! Hope y'all will enjoy reading it!

" _I wanted to go on sitting there, not talking, not listening to the others, keeping the moment precious for all time, because we were peaceful all of us, we were content and drowsy even as the bee who droned above our heads. In a little while it would be different, there would come tomorrow, and the next day and another year. And we would be changed perhaps, never sitting qite like this again. Some of us would go away, or suffer, or die, the future stretched away in front of us, unknown, unseen, not perhaps what we wanted, not what we planned. This moment was safe though, this could not be touched_."

Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier.

There was a strange hush over the house that summer, and strange groans and creaks developed in the floorboards and hinges. The effect was disquieting; it seemed as if the house was preparing itself for some great event. Sometimes, at night, when the smell of jasmine and the thick heat made sleep impossible, I felt as if the house were coming alive: as if the odd straining noise was some attempt at breaking free.

But sometimes, when I sat in the old rocking chair next to the bed we shared, I would watch Oikawa’s chest rise and fall and wonder whether the house was falling apart in sympathy. I leant forward in the hair, examining the greying hair of his chest, which peaked out from his pyjama top. It was pointless, of course. You could never tell from the outside, but slowly and undeniably, the loose hold Oikawa Tooru had on life was slipping away.

I had taken to watching him during these restless nights in this groaning house. There was some solace in the rise-and-fall of his breath, and the moon glinted off the two rings he wore: the one that marked his marriage to Iwaizumi in its proper place, and the one I gave him in a less vaulted spot on his rights hand. He had taken to fiddling with it during these long summer days, as we all gathered in this house in which he had chosen to pass his final days.

The day we arrived in this house, I sat with Matsukawa on the porch and watched Oikawa potter around the garden that Iwaizumi had tended, and where they still had their invisible dalliances to this day. I never joined him there: the way I never asked him where he went on the anniversary of Iwaizumi’s death. These little mercies I granted him gladly.

"How did he take the news?" Matsukawa asked, toying with a desultory scone before taking a sip of the bitter coffee Oikawa insisted on drinking.

"Obnoxiously," I intoned with a slight smile.

Matsukawa snorted. "That sounds about right."

I cocked my head to the side, fancying that I could see his lips moving slightly as he pondered the rhododendrons.

"You know," I said carefully. "He's almost…impatient."

It was possible to be honest this way, with Matsukawa– when it was just the two of us.

"You think he's…" Matsukawa searched for the words, before he fell silent. Following the vector of his eyes, I saw he was looking at my wedding ring.

"Do I think he's hoping that he'll see Iwaizumi soon?" I asked wryly.

"You've always been a little too quick on the uptake for my tastes."

Once more I considered the way he moved around the garden, as if he were impatiently waiting for some big event, as if it were the night before graduation, or mere minutes before the end of an interminable wedding toast.

"I don't think he's letting himself even hope for it," I mused. "But how could he not? I mean doesn't everyone think about what will happen to them on the other side of the great…whatever?"

"Very eloquent." Matsukawa swallowed dryly, losing his appetite. "You know…I'm about as jaded as they come. But, if there was ever a pair that could manage to find their way to each other…" He paused. "I can never understand the way you just don't let it bother you."

As Oikawa crossed over from the flowers and moved towards us, I stood up, brushing the crumbs from my pants and trying to think of a way to approach him that wouldn't provoke him to growl "I'm not an invalid." In these moments, when my tongue was tied and my hands wrung my shirt– in the moments when I couldn't make heads or tails of him: those were the moments when I felt Iwaizumi close to me, shaking his head at my shortcomings, pressing his hand to my shoulder and pushing me towards him.

Iwaizumi was always the more daring of the two of us. And he was coming towards Iwaizumi, as fast as he could.

The nights were getting worse. It was undeniable. He was dreaming of Iwaizumi; it was written on his sleeping face that always looked so young when he was unconscious. Leaning forward in my rocking-chair, I waited for the inevitable signal.

He moved his face towards the vast expanse of the bed I refused to sleep in these days. Each day, I gave him a new excuse about how I had fallen asleep on the couch. But the fact of the matter was that at night, I sometimes fancied I could see Iwaizumi, perched on the edge of the bed, running his hand over Oikawa’s fevered brow, before kissing him.

" _Soon,_ " he'd whisper.

" _Hajime_ ," he'd respond, before lifting a sleeping arm as if to catch hold of him before he disappeared once more.

Five years of marriage: five years borrowed from the life Iwaizumi should have spent with him. It was no more than a blink against their fifteen years– and the childish days before when they had fooled themselves into thinking that they could belong to anyone but each other. But I had stolen them from Iwaizumi, and for that he kept me from the bed they had once shared.

I had struck a deal with Iwaizumi, the day I married Oikawa. I would keep him safe for him until the day he could pull back the invisible veil and take Oikawa’s hand in his.

_Soon. Hajime._

I made the same promise.

Iwaizumi Hideki was the first to arrive with a box under his arm and red-rimmed eyes. He was the very picture of Iwaizumi Hajime, and for that reason Oikawa loved him just a little more fiercely than any other sibling of Iwaizumi. But, even this recollection was hard for him. Far easier to sit with Sakura and see only Hajime’s blurred edges.

We waited at the door for him to climb out of his car and climb the long path to the house that had been decorated by their older brother. Oikawa dropped my hand at the sight of Hideki– ran down the path and clutched him tightly. Hideki braved these moments with good humour: with the play of conflicting emotions as Oikawa’s heart tightened and the recollections hit him in the face.

"Tooru-san," he said simply, adjusting his box before shooting a glance over his shoulder. It was then that we noticed another figure, negotiating the path with the hard mouth of someone unused to being outdoors. "Mom wanted to see you. I hope that's okay."

For a moment, Oikawa and Iwaizumi Aiko stared at each other. It was always this way between them. For the longest time, they would search each other's faces, as if in a recognition that transcended the physical. Of all those who had known Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Aiko still had the haunted look of loss in their eyes and stamped across their features.

With a startling solemnity, Oikawa offered Aiko his arm, accompanying her to the door. As always when she saw me, her lips pursed – the only sign that she had seen me at all.

He had told Aiko about the wedding himself, putting on his best outfit. To this day, I have no idea what passed between them, only that he had returned with red eyes and what looked like a red welt on his cheek. He refused to let me tend to his war wound.

"Nothing that I don't deserve."

But, for some strange reason she came to our wedding. She sat in the front row, staring at me with eagle eyes. As always when she looked at me, I felt too dowdy, too dumpy to be in front of people.

At the reception, I made the mistake of approaching her – thanking her for coming. Finally, with all the awkwardness of a young man trying to speak to the adults, I assured her that I was not trying to take Iwaizumi’s place.

"My dear boy," she said, giving me the first of what would become her default disdainful glares. "Do not mistake my attendance here as some kind of peace offering. Tooru knows exactly how I feel about this wedding. So you should know that the only reason I'm here is to remind him that he made vows to my son first." She paused, an almost malicious glint in her exhausted eyes. For an insane moment, I wanted to embrace the haughty woman who clearly despised me. "And do you know what he said?"

I nodded, and for a moment she seemed to reassess me. She had not known then, of the countless hours Oikawa and I had spent discussing Iwaizumi, until I fancied that he wouldn't be able to think of anything more to say. But always, a new aspect occurred to him. Iwaizumi filled his mind, and he considered every moment they had spent together in exhaustive detail.

He spoke, and I listened. I listened and my scientific mind kept track of every contour until I fancied I had lived those memories.

When he married Iwaizumi, he refused to let go of him all night. He touched his Teal suit as if he couldn't believe what had been gifted to him by fate. Matsukawa had stood up with him, of course.

"It was intense," he said, scratching his wide honest face. He had gotten better at sharing these stories with me. Although he still didn't understand why I was so interested. "They were real pains about it too. We had this whole plan about how they wouldn't see each other before the wedding – Takahiro, Takeru, and all of us, we planned it. And they pretended to play along with it."

My husband had told me only part of the story, about how he and Iwaizumi had stolen moments away from the Wedding party. About how Iwaizumi had pressed his face into Oikawa’s shoulder and whispered, "I can't wait to be your husband."

"Quickie marriage in Vegas, then?"

"I can think of other quickies we could be having right now." One minute a romantic, the next a minx.

Of course, Matsukawa didn't know about those stolen moments in dust-filled rooms in the grand house they had rented in Honshu Island. All he knew was that when he left Oikawa to sleep the night before the wedding, he returned in the morning to find Oikawa and Iwaizumi asleep in each other's arms.

"We had sentries, posted at the door" he commented, smiling at the memory. "I still have no idea how they managed to pull it off."

"Love finds a way," I said thoughtfully. "In this case, possibly through a window."

"Oikawa?" Matsukawa laughed aloud. "Climb through a window? Are you insane? He’s a pampered baby! He probably would’ve tricked Iwa and knowing Iwa he would’ve done anything for Oikawa.”

At those moments, I was almost jealous of the off-hand way they would refer to Iwaizumi. So careless with their memories, so perfect in their recollections. I always felt as if I were ten steps behind them, despite my close attention.

At his wedding to Iwaizumi, Oikawa made this vow:

 _Anything I know about love, I learned from you. But one thing I do know is that I carry your heart. I carry it with me, on my own. I am never without it. I carry your heart in my heart. Everywhere I go, you go._ [1]

He would have followed Iwaizumi anywhere. Until his plane crashed into the icy ocean and he had nowhere to follow him to anymore.

At our wedding, I wore white and in his speech, Oikawa thanked me for my kindness. Love comes in different forms, I know. But then, there are the loves that cannot be kept apart, even by the stars.

"Well," Iwaizumi Aiko said stiffly. "Don't forget that he meant it. Even I can see, he meant it."

I understood, now, why she stayed so nearby all these years. Neither of them would ever fill the space that Iwaizumi had left in the universe. They clung to each other the way the stars do as greater forces strive to pull them apart. Hideki’s box was full of old pictures of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. For a while, we all looked at the baby photos, medals and the certificates that Takeru, Hideki and Sakura had brought home to their uncle and brother-in-law respectively.

Aiko and Oikawa passed them between each other all night – long after Takeru, Hideki had gone to bed and I had retired to my writing in the study.

They stayed awake all night, even as their eyes burned. They would not sleep until they looked at every photo. The strange superstitions of the bereaved have never made sense to me. But then, I'm not a poet. And I don't inspire poetry.

 _I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart_ ).

Soon. Hajime.

Every marriage is different. I've never been comfortable with grand displays of romance. I'm someone who enjoys the affection of a shared newspaper or an early morning walk. My husband has given me flowers, of course. But, he knows that anything too ostentatious would embarrass me.

In our house in the city, Iwaizumi’s medicinal books and clothes remain in the master bedroom, which he and Oikawa once shared.

A year after Iwaizumi's death, on the night of Hideki's engagement party, Oikawa emerged from that dark, still room, with a beautiful silver ring. Without a word, he placed it on his palm. Then, hugging him once, he left the room. Hideki touched the ring, before shooting me a look.

"This was the first ring that Tooru-san gave to my brother," he said softly.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"It was more beautiful on him."

I looked at Hideki who looked every bit as handsome as his brother in his black suit. I had learned by now not to give members of the Iwaizumi and Oikawa family those meaningless platitudes. They were too proud of that. Even good-natured, mischievous Takeru would freeze up at any attempt at coddling. Instead, I offered him a smile and passed him the cufflinks.

The day after the engagement party, while the rest of the house slept, I went into that room that Oikawa had disappeared into. I usually avoided it, feeling an uncanny sense of intrusion whenever I opened the door and felt the rush of air escaping. It was superstition, I knew, but each time the door opened, I felt as if something escaped. Standing in the room, looking at the untouched mementoes of the life Iwaizumi had once lived.

I had promised myself that I would take only one look, before returning to those parts of the house that didn't feel out-of-bounds. Until I noticed a wristwatch sitting on the table; a man's wristwatch. As if this little detail had caused an irrepressible change in perception, more details appeared before my eyes: an engraved cigarette holder, a number 4 Aoba Johsai uniform draped over the back of the chair, and a godzilla plush. Feeling slightly short of breath, I walked to the closet.

In the dewy morning light, it was suddenly clear to me. This room was not merely a mausoleum for the memory of Iwaizumi. Running my hands over the sports gears, old jerseys and school uniform lined one half of the walk-in closet, I realized that Oikawa had also left behind his exuberant old life in this dusty room. He had left all of his possessions with Iwaizumi. He had shed his old life like an article of clothing.

Perhaps I had always sensed it. But, a part of me felt extraordinary melancholy at the sight of a life left entirely behind. It seemed almost cowardly, the way he had turned his back on these memories.

It was not until I gracefully stubbed my toe on the old wooden chest that I found them. There was something about the dark, carved wood that told me this was a newer addition to the room. Sinking to my knees I lifted the lid.

"What did you find?" my mother asked when I related the story. Despite her misgivings about the marriage, she had become acutely interested in my stories of the "old days."

"Paper," I said, my hand shaking slightly so that my tea spilled into my saucer.

"Paper?"

"No…I mean…letters. Hundreds of letters."

She leaned forward eagerly. "Did you read them?"

"No. I mean. I opened one. And that's when I realized it."

"You're really not telling this story very well," she complained, still nursing a hangover from the previous night's activities.

She couldn't have understood how it felt; I didn't really understand it. I had heard stories of the grand, romantic love of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and it had been this fascination that had first drawn me to him. But, it was only now that I realized the truth of the matter. Not that he would never get over Iwaizumi: he had warned me of that.

"It was full of letters that he's written to Iwaizumi," I said finally. "Every day. Letters about Takeru, his siblings, friends, or angry letters – asking how he could leave him – or letters begging Iwaizumi to forgive him for…me. Basically, he's written him love letters. Every day since he died."

She reached for my hand over the table. "You knew it would be this way. You told me so yourself."

"I know. And I'm not upset. It just…" I looked out the window of the café we had chosen to discuss this morbid topic. "It makes you think, doesn't it? How unfair it is that love like that can just be taken away."

"But that's the thing, isn't it? Oikawa’s too stubborn to let it be taken away. He's holding onto it, no matter what anyone says."

There is still one person who can make my husband laugh, but it takes the arrival of his nephew, Takeru, holding a bottle of Argentinian wine – Malbec.

Takeru may be Oikawa’s carbon copy, but he is also an extraordinarily responsible husband married to Hinata Natsu, and a very kind man. From the moment he arrives, he bolsters his family – most particularly, the very shaken Oikawa’s sister Megumi– and fills the household with laughter. It is rarely valued, the gift of making people happy by your mere presence. But, in moments like this, I thank god for Takeru and the way he understands how to make his uncle loosen his top button and laugh.

They sit in the living room and drink the most expensive bottle of wine that money can buy, without even thinking about saving some for later. That is the one benefit of a deathbed visit: there is no point saving the bottle. Not that Takeru has ever been the type to save the bottle.

I paused at the door, drawn to the sound of Oikawa speaking with such enthusiasm. They are sharing business exploits and youthful indiscretions and for a moment, I imagine that this must have been how it was when they were younger, and Iwaizumi sat on the couch with them, with Oikawa’s head over Iwaizumi’s lap. Takeru and Hideki both report being deeply embarrassed by the cavalier affection that their uncle and brother respectively showed each other. They say that now with a deep sense of regret, wishing more than anything that Oikawa and Iwaizumi could still embarrass them at their Volleyball matches, school plays and birthday parties.

But soon enough, even Takeru and Oikawa turned to more solemn matters. "Why did Aiko-san come up to see you?"

Oikawa snorted. "She was probably disappointed she didn't get to kill me herself, so she wanted to be a witness at least."

"Uncle Tooru." That's the thing about Takeru: he disarmed people with his humour, but he possessed the uncanny ability to draw out those hidden thoughts that people scarcely want to say out loud.

"All those pills and vodkas have managed to convince Aiko-san that _Iwa-chan_ is hanging around, waiting for me to kick it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," Oikawa admitted. "But she told me that no matter what her personal opinion of me was – and trust me, there were expletives involved – she knew that if there was a life-after-death or something, that nothing would stop _Iwa-chan_ coming here. For me."

"Is that what you think?"

I could imagine the way his hand would spread over his forehead, as if the thought of it had given him a splitting headache. I had seen the gesture only twice before, and it had always been accompanied by mentions of Iwaizumi.

"I don't know," he said, in a somewhat guilty voice, as if he could scarcely believe he was confessing this. "I guess we'll see soon enough."

The words that he refused to say settled in the top corner of the room, like a moth. _I hope so._ But it was in my husband's every gesture. He had been patient for his nephew’s, and friends sake. He had offered Takeru guidance, and had offered Megumi his arm at parties. He smiled and coddled and welcomed the small pink faces of Hanamaki’s children with the appropriate awe and happiness. But his nephew knew as well as the rest of us that a part of him had been waiting for this day to come: so that he needn't feel guilty about his impatience.

"More wine?" Takeru asked softly.

"Have we met?"

As I walked down the hall, I fancied I could see Iwaizumi slip through the crack of the door and join his family in the living room.

We took our turns falling apart; that seems to me to be what families do.

I found Takeru in the pool house with a golf club, smashing each of the windows. When our eyes met, his chest was heaving and his usually immaculate clothes were in disarray. He looked around wildly, as if he was searching for an invisible crowd. But there was only me, wide eyed at the sight of his unravelling.

"He's not even…He's not _fucking_ trying to hide…He's not trying to stop it…Can't he…I mean _we're_ not done with him. Isn't that…Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You are the only reason he's lasted this long."

Takeru leant on his golf club, the rage slipping away from him and a sheepish embarrassment taking its place. "You helped," he said grudgingly, running a hand through his dark hair.

I took his comment, folded it up and placed it carefully next to my heart.

When Hanamaki and Matsukawa arrived, Megumi dissolved into tears, hiding her face and hurrying from the room. Oikawa made a move to follow her, but Hanamaki put a soft hand on his forearm.

"Let me," he said gently.

Oikawa gestured widely, allowing him to follow after Megumi. As Matsukawa greeted me with his usual warm smile and bone-crushing hug, Oikawa watched us with a smirk on his face. I had asked Matsukawa about Hanamaki’s friendship with my husband, not quite making sense of what drew two such different men to each other. He had shaken his head and told me that I couldn't hope to understand. When they were sixteen, Iwaizumi had told them that they were part of something special, and in due course they had become something special. It was that simple.

I found Hanamaki and Matsukawa engaged in a whispered conversation that evening, in the hours when the sun sets the leaves on fire. Hanamaki was wrapped in a shawl, despite the summer warmth. Looking up and down the hall, rubbing his elbows, he shook his head at Matsukawa: still the picture of good health, still beautiful even as his hair became undeniably grey.

"I'm telling you, Issei," he whispered. "Sometimes I see him in this house."

"It's just your memories."

"But I mean…if he _were_ going to make an appearance…"

Matsukawa frowned, before reaching out to cease his hand's methodical rub. "Have you been drinking Kool-Aid?"

They laughed, but as they rounded the corner in search of Oikawa, the strange creaking noise seemed to increase in volume, causing Matsukawa to jump.

Each night, the same words. I waited for them, if for no other reason than they assured me that my husband was still alive for his late-night dalliances with his husband.

_Soon. Hajime._

They settled in the kitchen, Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Oikawa. Oikawa had taken to sleeping during the day, but found himself taken over by a sudden wakefulness during the midnight hours.

"Are you scared?" Matsukawa asked Oikawa as they nibbled on whatever was leftover from dinner.

Oikawa shot him a strange look. "What on earth do _I_ have to be scared of?"

There was a long pause.

"He's _Oikawa Tooru, three time Olympic gold medallist_ ," Hanamaki quipped, easing the tension and undoubtedly earning a few profiteroles aimed for his head.

"There's something wrong with us – all of us," Hanamaki said, shaking his head. "We shouldn't be laughing."

"Laugh or cry," Oikawa said simply. "What's coming is coming."

"You may be a morbid asshole," Matsukawa said fondly. "But I am going to miss you so much, man. I can't even believe that this is goodbye."

"It's the end of the Seijou VBC class of 2012," Hanamaki said mournfully.

What happened next was so uncharacteristic of Okawa that I couldn't help but peek into the room, feeling a thrill of voyeurism at the sight of three quarters of the Seijou third years toasting the passing of another of their cohort.

With a determined look on his face, Oikawa reached out and took Matsukawa’s hand and placed it on top of Hanamaki’s. "There. That's the Seijou VBC."

For a while, Matsukawa stared at his hand over Hanamaki’s. Both of them had worn wedding rings – in Matsukawa’s case, two different times – but it didn't really matter. By placing his hand in Hanamaki’s, Oikawa had guaranteed that Iwaizumi’s vision lived on.

Standing up, he offered them another one of his smirks. "I'll catch you guys in the next life."

When he came into the hallway, he found me standing there guiltily, eavesdropping. With a wry smile, he offered me his hand and led me back upstairs.

With that simple salute, _I'll catch you in the next life_ , Oikawa slipped into a feverish sleep. For three days he writhed and babbled, until a stillness overtook him and the rasping sound of his breath entering and leaving his lungs was all that could be heard.

Every win or loss, every jealousy, every petty disappointment, and moment of savage loss: all of it came down to the in-out of a rasping breath.

But every moment of love, every moment of affection, and every promise kept with dignity lingered in the faces of all those loved ones who gathered around his bed, for no other reason than they loved him too much to allow him to die alone.

They all thought me morbid, writing down the story of the man who I had never even met, whose plane had crashed into cold waters long before I had known Oikawa Tooru. But I had never seen it that way. The hole that Iwaizumi had left in the lives of everyone in this room, and most of all Oikawa, was a sign of hope.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s story may have ended in loss and separation, but it was only possible to tell it in a series of love letters.

When it happened, it happened suddenly.

Oikawa’s breath hitched, and he lifted slightly from the pillow, his eyes open for the first time in days.

"Uncle?" Takeru whispered.

But Oikawa’s eyes were elsewhere: focused on the point before his face, where the air was opening up to show the vision of whatever it was that followed this life. Perhaps it was the mental trick of a body shutting down, but Oikawa's face broke out into a luminous smile.

"I see him," he said, his voice choked with tears. "I _see_ him."

It may have been the treasured memory of a mind shutting down, but all I know for sure is that Oikawa Tooru died with a smile on his face and one word on his lips.

_Hajime._

**Author's Note:**

> [1] "I carry your heart with me" by Edward Estlin Cummings.
> 
> Kudos and Comments are appreciated!!


End file.
